


Hard Time

by crazynadine



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Cartels, Cellmates & soulmates, Flashbacks, Gay Jesus (sorry), Gun Violence, Homophobic Language, Ian & Mick work through some of their shit, M/M, Mickey Milkovich in Mexico, Post 9X6, Prison, Prison Sex, Racist Language, Reunions, Transphobia, prison fic, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 01:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazynadine/pseuds/crazynadine
Summary: Ian and Mickey's first day as cellmates. Ian is trying to get used to being a prisoner, and trying to process Mickey's sudden and unexpected return. Mickey has given up his freedom and risked his life to be with Ian. Now he's just hoping it was worth it, and Ian is in this for good. There is still a lot they need to work on, but now they have all the time in the world....





	Hard Time

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is my take on mick & ian's first day inside. i know everyone is writing one of these, but i felt compelled to put my own spin on it. enjoy.

"I want to fuck you so bad." 

"Keep it in your pants, Gallagher." Mickey chuckled, slapping Ian lightly across the chest with the back of his palm. It felt so good to just be sitting next to him, but Ian was right, it wasn't nearly enough. He was desperate to get Ian inside him. 

But they had to play it cool for the first few weeks inside. If they played their cards right, they could do whatever they wanted, as soon as Ian's new inmate status was over. The guards had so much shit on their minds everyday with problem inmates, they didn't bother to waste resources on inmates that sat a little too close together. If Ian and Mickey flew under the radar and kept their relationship private, they could pretty much be together without issue while doing their time. 

The problem Mickey had with that plan was keeping his god damn hands to himself. 

It had only been about an hour since Mickey had rolled up on Ian in their newly shared cell. Mickey had stood in the doorway of the john, watching Ian make his way up to 33D, which would be their home for the next two years. He'd watched Ian walk up the metal staircase, his bedroll tucked in his hands, a grim, dejected look on his face. Cold, dead eyes. 

It scared the fuck out of Mickey, and he couldn't wait anymore. He had to make sure Ian was okay. 

The look on Ian's face when he saw Mickey was fucking beautiful. Ian has this way of looking at Mickey like he's the only thing he sees. It never fails to send Mickey into a tailspin of faggy feelings. 

Not to mention, it gets him hard as a rock. 

They had spent the entire following hour making out. Mickey splayed out on his back, Ian caging him in like he loved. It was fucking perfect. Mickey still can't believe it all worked out. He can't believe Ian was that happy to see him. 

Mickey had been so worried. What if Ian didn't want to see him? What if Ian wasn't his Ian anymore? After everything Mickey had seen on the news over the past year, he wasn't sure who he was going to find when he walked through that cell door. 

It was a huge risk, turning himself in. Just one more in a long line of insane risks Mickey had taken for Ian. But he knew he had to do it. He had to try. He'd never stop trying for Ian, no matter how it affected him personally. 

"But Mick, it's been sooo long." Ian sighed, burying his face in Mickey's neck and inhaling. God, Mickey even smelled the same. Like sweat and Ivory soap and the best sex Ian's ever had. Ian's still reeling that Mickey's even here. He was certain he'd lost his god damn mind when Mickey walked up on him. "I missed you." 

"I missed you too, Ian. A fucking lot. But we gotta play it cool. We can't bang 'til lights out. Why're you acting like this is your first rodeo? You were locked up for nine months before your trial. I know you got laid in there." Mickey laughed, leaning back on the bunk so he could see Ian's face. He reached up, running his tattooed fingers through Ian's black hair. Ian sighed, leaning into the touch.

"Not too much." Ian shook his head. He'd been too busy being a gay prophet to fuck in County. Too focused. There had been guys here and there, but no one Ian remembers by name. 

"I don't believe that." Mickey shook his head, smiling. "A guy like you could get any tweaker twink bitch he wanted. This body, man. Jesus." he gripped Ian's hip with his left hand, pulling their bodies flush together. "You bulked up, Gallagher." 

Ian scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Dick." 

"Yeah, that probably had them drooling too." Mickey laughed. "Your dick, I mean. "Mickey clarified, smiling. Ian rolled his eyes, grinding his dick against Mickey's thigh with a flirty smile. 

"You would know." Ian laughed, locking eyes with Mickey once more. He's just so god damn happy, he feels like his whole body is vibrating with it. 

Not at all how he anticipated feeling on the first day of his sentence. 

Mickey trailed his fingers through Ian's dark hair, his eyes darting all over Ian's face. "I have to say, though, I'm not digging the dye job." 

Ian laughed, knocking his forehead against Mickey's before leaning in to capture his lips in a tender kiss. "What, black's not my color?" 

"We look like fuckin' incest twins right now." Mickey laughed, gripping Ian's dyed locks tightly in his fist. "I want my red hair back." 

Ian smiled, his whole chest warming at Mickey's words. God, he missed him. 

Ian pulled Mickey closer, groaning lowly as Mickey pulled his hair again. He rolled his hips gently, immensely pleased when Mickey's breath stuttered. 

"Ian, come on. You're killing me." Mickey laughed, pulling away slightly, putting some much needed space between their rapidly filling cocks. It HURT to pull back, but Mickey is not new to this shit. He knows how it has to be. 

"Fine, we can't fuck." Ian sighed, sitting up reluctantly. Mickey followed him, and soon they were sitting side by side on the bottom bunk, their feet dangling over the edge, swinging back and forth in synchronicity.  
"Then tell me how you pulled this off." Ian said, waving his hand around the small cell. 

There had to be quite a story there. 

"Uh uh." Mickey shook his head. He reached across the small space between them, grabbing Ian's hand and pulling it into his lap. He slipped his fingers between Ian's longer ones, gripping his hand tightly. It felt so good just to touch him again. 

For years, Mickey was certain he'd never be able to touch Ian again. 

"You first, Red. Tell me how you ended up here. Tell me how you went from Ian 'I've got my shit together' Gallagher to gay fucking Jesus." 

Ian groaned, his face flushing with an embarrassed blush. "You heard about that?" 

"Fuck yeah I did. I've been hearing about it for over a year. You think I'd go to Mexico and not keep tabs on shit back home?" 

Ian shook his head, feeling stupid. Now that he's not in the middle of it anymore, he sees the Gay Jesus shit for what it was. 

Fucking insane. 

Ian cuddled closer to Mickey, laying his head on his shoulder and staring at the cinder-block wall in front of them. He thinks back to the beginning this whole mess...how did it really start? 

"Well, I guess I started slipping right after I left you at the border." Ian said quietly. He felt Mickey stiffen next to him, and fresh guilt pooled in his gut. 

God, he really fucked up. 

"You sayin' that going with me started you on some bipolar spiral shit?" Mickey asked quietly, unable to mask the pain in his voice. 

"No, no." Ian shook his head, jostling Mickey a little. "I don't mean it like that at all. It was the loss, Mick." Ian sat up and turned to face Mickey, resting his hands on Mickey's neck. "I lost you, then when I got back to Chicago, I found out Monica died. It was so fucked up, Mick. No one gave a shit but me. No one else cared that you were gone. No one even cared that Monica was dead. I felt so alone. I had no one to talk to about any of it. I didn't want to talk to anyone about it. Except you. I kept wishing you were there, and I didn't know where you were, or if you were okay in Mexico." 

"You weren't alone, though." Mickey shook his head, pulling away a little as his mood started to sour. "You had your little boyfriend." he hated himself, even as he was saying it, but he can't stop thinking about that night at the docks, when Ian told him he didn't want to get mixed up with Mickey's bullshit, and that he had a fucking boyfriend. 

Someone Ian wanted to be with. Someone that wasn't Mickey. Someone worth leaving Mickey for. 

That shit stung. More than it probably should have. It made sense that Ian would move on. They were broken up. But that didn't make it any easier to hear. Mickey is embarrassed to admit, he wondered about Ian and his boyfriend many times when he was in Mexico. Ironically, he spent countless nights in strange men's beds, wondering what Ian was doing, and if he was with his new man. 

It sucked. 

"Yeah, well...that shit didn't work out either." Ian huffed. "He turned out to be a massive dick." 

"I heard you're into that kinda thing, though." Mickey jokes, hoping to return to the light mood they had before. 

Ian smiled sadly, shaking his head. "We had issues well before I took off with you." 

"Oh yeah? Like what? From what I read online, he was the perfect pre-op poster boy for your cause."

"What?" Ian asked, confused. He knows Gay Jesus was all over the internet and the news, but Ian had not read any of it. He was living it, everyday. He didn't need to read about it too. 

"Yeah, man." Mickey nodded, thinking back to all the crazy shit he'd read about Ian in the past year. "Local gay right activist Ian Gallagher goes up against organized religion with his unique message of inclusion and tolerance. Aided by his boyfriend Trevor Whogivesafuck, a trans-gendered man himself, Ian has been spreading his message of a homosexual savoir all over Chicago." Mickey recited a passage he'd accidentally memorized. He'd read it so many times, it had become burned into his brain. He can remember the first time he read that article with vivid clarity, as well as the dark, sinking feeling it gave him.  


That was when he knew Ian was not stable. He also knew at that moment that Ian's new boyfriend was fucking clueless, encouraging that gay cult shit, when he should have been bringing Ian in to get his meds checked. 

"Jesus." Ian breathed, embarrassment flooding his body. He ran a hand down his blushing face. "At the time, I felt like I was doing something important. Special. I was helping kids that had nowhere else to turn. I was making a difference." 

"I get that, Ian." Mickey nodded. He's not trying to upset Ian. But seriously? "It kinda reminds me of when you went batshit on those Westboro pricks at the soldier's funeral. Remember that?" 

Ian nodded, his face heating up further. That's not a time he likes to remember, either. 

"You remember what I said back then?" Mickey asked, eyebrows raised. 

"Yeah." Ian replied, giving Mickey a weak smile. "You said we could do more damage if we had a plan. And I thought I had a plan with Gay Jesus. But it all just kinda spiraled out of control." 

"So where were all these people that were supposed to have your back? Where were the people telling you that your plan was shit? Telling you that you were gonna get caught, end up here? What happened to your super hero boyfriend? Too busy saving the world one fag at a time?" 

Ian huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You are such a dick sometimes." 

Mickey just laughed with him. No use in denying it. 

"But if you must know, Trevor and I broke up when I got back from the border. He wasn't too happy about me running off with my escapee ex-boyfriend." 

"I can't imagine why." Mickey replied dryly. "Sounds like kind of a douche anyway. His quotes in those articles were insanely self-serving. Guy loved to talk about himself, even when he was supposed to be talking about you." 

"Trevor always did have a hard time seeing beyond his own wants and needs." Ian conceded. "Actually, he was kind of pushy, now that I think about it. Never took no for an answer, got real bitchy when he didn't get his way. Making all these snide comments." 

"I can see why you'd want to hang out with a dude like that." Mickey replied, sarcasm dripping in his tone. 

At that moment, a thought occurred to Mickey, and he blurted it out before he could think better of it. 

"Please tell me he's not the prick you bent over for...." 

Mickey's eyes bugged out of his head when Ian blushed and looked away. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Gallagher." Mickey groaned. "That kid doesn't even have a real dick, man. All these years of you being a fucking gold star, and you gave up your cherry to a dude with a strap-on?" 

"Fuck off, Mick. I did it cuz I wanted to." Ian replied grumpily. He scooted further away from Mickey and crossed his arms over his chest, full brat mode. The Chin out in all it's melancholy glory. 

"Oh yeah?" Mickey replied, clearly not buying it. "Then what was all that shit you just said about that prick wearing you down until you caved? You do that a lot these days? Let people tell you how you feel, what you want? That's not like you." 

Ian sighed, sliding back toward Mickey on the bed, unable to stand the distance between them. He wrapped his arm around Mickey's shoulder, pulling him to his side. "After you got locked up, I felt pretty lost for a long time. I dated a guy who ended up being bi. Cheated on me with his ex-girlfriend. Told me it wasn't cheating, that I didn't get it. That gay men can fuck women and it doesn't count. Said I was being closed-minded. Convinced me that I didn't know what I was talking about. I ended up fucking some random chick from the train, just to see if he was right. Turns out, I'm super gay. Hated every second of it. Fucking bullshit." 

"That IS fucking bullshit." Mickey agreed. "You put your dick in someone besides the person you're with, that's fucking cheating." 

Ian nodded, not really wanting to talk about this shit anymore.

"So, let me see if I've got all this straight." Mickey said, locking eyes with Ian. "You let one boyfriend talk you into fucking some random bitch, and you let another talk you into abandoning your one hard limit and taking it in the ass?" 

Ian sighed again, shaking his head. "It was a really confusing time in my life, Mick. I didn't really know who I was or what I wanted." 

"See, now that's not the person I know at all." Mickey shook his head, gripping Ian around the back of his neck and dragging their heads together. Mickey pressed his forehead to Ian's, not looking away from his eyes for a second. "The Ian I know doesn't let anyone push him around. Where'd your balls go, Gallagher?" 

Ian huffed out a small laugh, rolling his eyes. "Like I said, I was confused." 

"You confused now?" Mickey asked, eyebrows raised. 

"Fuck no." Ian replied instantly. "Never been more clear in my life." 

"And your meds are good? After this van bombing fiasco, you got your shit straight?" 

Ian nodded, giving Mickey a reassuring smile. "Yeah. I got it all figured out after I got out of County, while I was awaiting trial. I'm balanced now. My lawyer says I'll get my meds while I'm here, court ordered therapy, the whole nine yards." 

"How do you feel about that?" Mickey asked carefully. It had never gone well for Mickey when he pushed Ian regarding his disorder.

"It's good." Ian said. "I feel good. These meds are a good fit for me, and I know I need 'em. This shit reminded me of that in no uncertain terms." Ian waved his hand around the cell, highlighting his situation. 

"Why'd you stop taking them?" Mickey asked. From what Mickey had heard from his contacts back home, Ian had been doing so well before all this shit happened. Mickey doesn't understand why he'd risk it all. 

"I didn't stop all at once." Ian replied quietly. It's hard to talk about this shit, even with Mickey, who's been there since the beginning. Maybe it's especially hard to talk to Mickey about it, because he knows what Ian was like before his diagnosis. "I guess I started missing doses around the time things really ended with Trevor, when I first started getting caught up in activism. That's when I first started hearing Shim." 

"Who the fuck is Shim?" Mickey asked, eyebrows high on his forehead. 

"God." Ian replied lowly, glancing up at Mickey before casting his eyes down. 

This shit is ridiculously embarrassing. 

"You were hearing the voice of God, and you thought 'sure, now would be a good time to stop my anti-psychotics.'?" Mickey doesn't even know what to do with that. 

Ian sighed, rolling his eyes. "I guess. It's hard to explain. You weren't there, Mick. Those kids were counting on me. They had nowhere to sleep, no one to look after them. I got into it with Fiona over this building we both wanted to buy. I wanted to turn it into an LGTBQI youth shelter, she wanted to make it a stupid fucking art studio or something equally pretentious. Shim helped me sort through all that shit, gave me direction." 

"Your sister's moving up in the world, huh?" Mickey asked, glossing over the Voice of God, for now. He'd been keeping close tabs on Ian, but hadn't really cared enough to keep up with the rest of the Gallaghers.

"She was, but now she's pretty much lost it all." Ian replied sadly. Ian can't help but wonder if he contributed to Fiona's troubles with his shit. He's not sure how true that is, but he can't help but feel a little bit responsible. 

"Well, easy come easy go." Mickey replied, reaching out for Ian's hand again. "We're all used to that shit. Hard to break the cycle."

Ian nodded sadly, glancing away. "Yeah, I guess. The trouble comes when you think you can escape it. When you think you can change anything." 

"Hey, come on now." Mickey said, gripping Ian under the chin so they were eye to eye again. "We can change shit, Ian. We just need to do it the right way. You need to take your meds, I need to stop breaking the law. And from the sounds of it, Fiona needs to quit trying to take over the world, maybe take some fucking baby steps instead of trying to jump the line and go straight to the front, huh?" 

Ian laughed wetly, nodding. "Yeah, I guess. How is it that you weren't even here and you know what's up?" 

"I know you guys, Ian." Mickey smiled. "Just cuz I've been gone for a few years doesn't mean I don't know how Gallaghers operate." 

Ian laughed then, grabbing Mickey around the waist and tossing him to the bed. Ian rolled on top of him, pinning his hands above his head as they just stared at each other for a moment. 

"So you don't hear shit anymore? No more voices?" Mickey asked carefully. His whole body relaxed when Ian shook his head. 

"Nope." Ian replied. "No more voices, no more visions. Just the shitty aftermath, cleaning up the mess I made." 

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for all that, Ian. I've missed a lot." Mickey said, his eyes traveling all over Ian's face. 

"Yeah, you did." Ian nodded, releasing Mickey so he could sit up again. "But so did I. Don't think I forgot that you still need to tell me how you got here." 

Mickey nodded, rubbing his nose with his knuckles. He opened his mouth to speak, but just then the buzzer went off, shattering the shared moment. 

"C'mon, Gallagher." Mickey said, standing from his bunk and extending his hand to Ian. "It's chow time. We can continue this painfully girly conversation after we eat. I'm fucking starved." 

Ian laughed again, following Mickey out of the cell and down the tier, heading toward the cafeteria and the first of Ian's many prison meals...

 

***

 

Lunch is quite the culture shock for Ian. Sure, chow time was chaotic during his stay in County, but this was fucking pandemonium. 

Tables overflowing with men. Everyone screaming over each other, throwing shit across the hall. Ian casts a wary eye around the space, feeling increasingly exposed and vulnerable. 

They make their way through the line slowly, Ian staying close behind Mickey as they fill their trays with disgusting looking slop. 

Ian *thinks* he's looking at some kind of tuna casserole, with mashed potatoes and peas. There are a few canned peach slices and a stale looking roll. Ian takes the tray with a nod of thanks, grabbing a styrofoam cup of Tang and an even staler looking brownie. 

Appetizing.

Mickey tapped him on his shoulder, drawing his attention. Ian followed him over to the far corner of the room, where there were a couple seats open at a round table next to the cinder-block wall. 

Mickey dropped into one of the empty seats, nodding to Ian to sit next to him. Ian fell into the chair, eyes wandering around the table. There are three other men sitting with them. An older man, probably in his forties, sits on Mickey's left. His head is shaved bald, and all his exposed skin is covered in black ink. Not a single stitch of skin is clean. Ian sees flaming skulls, naked women, a fucking dragon snaking it's way up the guy's neck. 

Ian's not ashamed to admit, the guy is a bit intimidating. 

The other two, not so much. They are both in their twenties, also covered in tattoos, but not nearly as many, and their ink is not nearly as menacing. They are also skinnier, and they are both sporting goofy smiles as they horse around at the table, shoving each other and flicking peas across the table like a couple of kids. 

"Fresh meat?" the older guy asks, eyeing Ian critically. 

"Fuck off." Mickey grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Uncle Ronnie, this is Ian. You met him once, a few years back." 

Ian's eyes widened as he locked eyes with the man across the table. As he stared into the man's appraising blue eyes it hit him. 

The night Mickey came out at the Alibi. This is Mickey's uncle. The one who broke a chair over Ian's back. Ian stiffens, readying for a fight, but Ronnie just laughs. 

"That ginger fuck? The one your ol' man wanted to gut? No shit? Good on you, Mick. Don't think any Milkovich has kept a bitch that long." 

"I'm not a bitch." Ian spat, anger bubbling in his stomach.

"He don't mean it like that, man." one of the goofy looking kids said, reaching his hand out for Ian to shake. "I'm Davie, that's my dad, Ronnie, and this is our other cousin, Vlad." 

Ian shook Davie's hand warily, realizing belatedly that he was surrounded by Milkovichs on all sides. Mickey wouldn't put him in danger, right? These guys had to be cool, not like Terry. 

"I see that look in your eye, kid." Ronnie laughed, glancing at Ian as he spooned some mashed potatoes into his mouth. "But you don't need to worry about all that. I like a good fight just as much as the next Milkovich, but I ain't go no beef with the fags. I ain't like Terry that way. Hell, my daughter Natasha is a dyke. Has herself a chink girlfriend and everything." 

Ian's eyes widened, unsure of what to say to all that. 

"Ronnie, man, chill." Mickey laughed, subtly laying his hand on Ian's thigh under the cover of the table, soothing him instantly. "It's fine. We're fine, right, Gallagher?" 

Ian looked from Ronnie's expectant face, to the cousins, then back to Mickey. Mickey was smiling, head cocked to the side. Ian smiled back. "Yeah, we're good." 

"Good." Ronnie said. "Cuz we've been waitin' on Mickey here to spill the details of his surrender. Wouldn't say shit 'til you got here." 

Any sense of ease Ian had conjured up at the table evaporated, and he was filled with dread instantly. 

Mickey was a snitch. He told Ian as much back in the cell. What was his family going to do to him when they found out? 

"Eh, do I gotta right now?" Mickey rolled his eyes, seemingly not nearly as nervous as Ian about this whole situation. He grabbed his spork and started pushing around the noodles on his plate, eyeing the food disdainfully. 

"Yeah, kid, you do. We told you we'd wait 'til your wife showed up, but now that the Missus is here, it's time. So lay it on me, while I'm still young." 

Ian had to admit, he was also very curious. Mickey had only told him he'd rolled on the cartel. Ian had no idea what that entailed, or what kind of danger Mickey may be in now that he'd turned snitch.

"Fine, whatever." Mickey said, stuffing half his brownie in his mouth. "You asked, but it ain't a pretty story." 

 

***

 

Alcapoloco, October 2017

 

Mickey walks the perimeter of the estate, his AK strapped across his back as his eyes scan the immediate area for threats. 

In moments like these, he thinks of Ian. It's good that he didn't follow Mickey across the border. Because Mickey ended up doing exactly what everyone thought he would. He's a nameless thug in a dangerous Mexican cartel. The Demonios de la Muerte. Demons of Death. 

It's a fitting name. Mickey has seen more people die in the past year than any one person should ever have to. Thankfully, he hasn't had to pull the trigger. Yet. Mickey knows it's only a matter of time before he's going to have to take someone out. Kill or be killed. That's the life he lives now. 

So yeah, he's glad Ian's not here, even if he misses him like an amputated limb. Ian is too good for this life. Ian is too good for him, always has been. 

When people hear Acapulco, they think of warm, sandy beaches, five star hotels, and expensive mixed drinks. But Acapulco isn't just a beach town anymore. It's also ground zero for the cartel wars, and the murder capital of Mexico. 

Mickey hears a noise as he passes the far east gate of the compound. He whips around fast, gun drawn. 

"Yo, gringo. Baja tu arma." Manny says calmly, hands up. Mickey sighs, relieved, dropping his gun. 

"Jesus, Manny." Mickey says, walking over to him. "How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on a dude." 

Manny just chuckles, offering Mickey a beer. "C'mon, your shift is done. Alejandro is already walking the west perimeter. Let's get drunk." 

Mickey takes the offered beer, sliding his gun around so it rest at his back as they walk back to the main house. 

The compound is not all that big. It's not near the beach, and the road doesn't get that much traffic. It's just a collection of buildings surrounded by a tall metal fence There are dogs everywhere. Bloodthirsty little fucks who will chew your face off with one command. Mickey feeds them raw steaks all the time. Those dogs kind of scare the shit out of him. Manny loves the nasty bastards. Even lets Diablo, the biggest, meanest pit bull on the property, sleep in his bed. 

Mickey doesn't let anyone sleep in his bed. 

"You going out tonight?" Manny asks as they make their way over the threshold and into the living space. There is usually a crew of six men on the property, guarding it at all times. This is a stash house. Cash only, though. Their are houses just like this all over Mexico. Some hold the cartel's money, like this one. Some houses hold the actual drugs. Mickey's glad he got assigned a money house. There is less traffic at the money houses. People only drop by once every few weeks to deposit their earnings. With the drug houses, runners and dealers are in and out at all hours of the day and night. 

"I was thinking about it." Mickey replies, dropping himself down on the overstuffed couch and flipping on the flat screen TV. The cartel house is well furnished, state of the art everything, including the security system. There is a wall of TV monitors in the hall closet, where Mickey can see every square inch of the property.

It's the nicest place Mickey's ever lived. The stash house has been his only home since he got to Mexico. Before that, he was homeless, using Ian's blood money for hotels rooms and food. Moving every couple weeks. That all changed one night at some shithole bar. Mickey got into a brawl with some prick, over some stupid shit. He can't even remember the reason. Mickey was a mess those first few months, didn't care whether he lived or died. So fights like that were pretty common for him. 

This fight ended up being different, though. Because some soldier in the Demonios saw the whole thing go down, and bought Mickey a drink. That drink turned into a job with the cartel. They can always use more crazy pricks with no self-preservation instinct. 

"You can just bring your chica to the house, man. All the guys do. Hell, Marco brought a fucking prostitute home last week." 

"Nah." Mickey shook his head, taking a pull off his beer before dropping the bottle in favor of lighting a cigarette. "You know I don't like to bring fucks back here. I don't mix business with pleasure." 

"It's your dick, gringo. If you are happier with your hand, be my guest." Manny laughed, dropping down next to Mickey and pulling out a bag of weed. He started breaking it up, twisting up a joint for them to split. "I'm just sayin', you're much more pleasant when you've recently busted a nut."

"Fuck off, pendejo." Mickey laughed, shaking his head.

The fact of the matter was, Mickey didn't bring anyone home because no one in the cartel knew he was gay. Mickey had a feeling that him being a queer would not go over well with the organization. The gang operated on a steady diet of violence and machismo, and being a fairy that liked to suck dick did not jive with that image at all. 

So Mickey made due with what he could get. He went down to Danza, a gay bar in Puerto Jilliad every couple weeks. The small city was miles away from the stash house, and it was reasonably safe to assume no one at the bar would know anyone from the cartel. It was risky, but Mickey didn't really care. It was bad enough that he had to shove himself back in the closet when he took up with the Demonios, he wasn't going to deny himself completely. 

He played straight, fucked girls when they were offered to him by the higher ups. He actually had quite the reputation as a lady killer, since he fucked them and left them wanting more. Always aloof, never getting drawn in by the girl's flirty smirks or swaying hips. It drove the women wild, thinking he was playing hard to get. Little did they know, he was not a player, he was just a liar. 

When he broke out of jail over a year ago, this was not the life he envisioned for himself. 

How fucking naive of him. Did he really think he could leave his old shit behind? Did he really think he'd be able to live openly, live free? Did he really think he'd ever be anything more than a thug, a criminal? Did he really think he had a chance in hell of making Ian love him again? 

Fucking stupid. 

"Hey, check this out." Manny laughed, cuing up a video on youtube. "You americans and your protests. Look at these maricons. Saying Jesus is el joto." 

Mickey rolled his eyes. He can only imagine what kind of faggy bullshit Manny is seeing. He knows it's kinda crazy on the American side of the border these days. With that orange asshole in the white house, all the queers are losing their shit, along with all the rest of American's marginalized people. Mickey reads about a different protest march every week. But he hasn't heard shit about any gay Jesus. Fucking ridiculous. He lights the joint and takes a long drag, moving to pass it to Manny as he finally glances at the laptop. 

When his eyes fall on the screen, his heart stops. It straight up fucking stops beating in his chest. He can't breath, and his whole body goes numb. He drops the joint on the floor and Manny curses, scrambling to pick it up before it burns the carpet. 

"Eh, cabron. You're gonna burn the fucking house down. What's your problem?" 

But Mickey doesn't answer. He doesn't even hear the question. All he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and his heart trying to beat out of his chest. 

"Dude, you okay?" Manny asks, taking in Mickey's ashen face and horrified expression. 

No. No he is not fucking okay. 

Because that is Ian on the screen. His Ian. Although it doesn't look like his Ian at all. 

Ian has bulked up considerably since they last saw each other, but that is not what Mickey noticed. Ian has that crazed, manic look on his face, clear as day. Flushed skin, wide, wild eyes. His hands moving fast as his mouth runs on and on.

It looks like he's in one of those small storefront churches in the city. The ones with the creepy pastors that preach about end times and the fires of hell. 

Ian is surrounded by what looks like a band of lost boys. Fags and dykes, some trannies, all watching him like he is in fact the second coming of Christ as he screams at a horrified looking preacher on the other side of the room. Ian is holding a bible, with about a million post it notes sticking out of all sides. 

Ian is also saying some crazy shit. Quoting full bible verses without even having too look at the page. 

Mickey knows right away what's happening. Ian is manic. Maybe off his meds. He has found a new cause, and he's going to ride it until he crashes and burns. 

Mickey feels sick. He feels helpless and powerless. Thousands of miles away, watching Ian losing his shit all over the god damn internet. 

"Mickey." Manny says, tapping Mickey on the shoulder. "What's up with you?" 

Mickey looks away form Ian, closing the laptop and turning toward Manny. "That's some bizarre shit." he laughs, but it sounds strained. "Fucking crazy fags." 

"Crazy american fags." Manny corrects, laughing. 

 

***

 

Months go by, and Mickey keeps tabs on Ian's Gay Jesus movement as best he can. It seems to be getting worse and worse, and Mickey can't help but wonder where the fuck Fiona and Lip are when all of this shit is going down. 

It's summer again, and the July sun beats down on Mickey as he and Julio make their way back to the house after feeding the dogs. 

"I can't believe you aren't going to call that chica from the party last week. She was all over your dick, man." Julio laughed, shouldering his way through the door and making his way toward the living room. 

"One and done, man. I wanted a nut, not a wife." Mickey replied, opening the fridge and grabbing two beers. He tossed one to Julio as he walked by him and made his way over to the couch. The laptop was open on the coffee table, already opened to the encrypted site that Mickey used to keep tabs on Ian's Gay Jesus bullshit. 

Mickey might be a little obsessed, but he can't seem to stop himself from following Ian's antics on the internet. He's even toyed with the idea of calling his sister, or Iggy, see if they have heard anything. 

That's fucking dangerous thinking. Mickey hasn't slipped once since crossing the border. He hasn't surrendered to the desire to contact his family. He's done good, making a clean break from his old life in Chicago.

With one glaring exception, obviously. 

He can't seem to quit Ian, no matter how hard he tries. 

Mickey's eyes scan the latest article, and his heart sinks into his stomach as he reads about the stupid bullshit Ian's gotten himself into. 

"Holy fuck." Mickey whispers. His eyes start to sting, and his throat closes up. He blinks rapidly, glancing up at Julio, who's making eggs in the kitchen. Once he's certain Julio is paying him no mind, he goes back to reading the article. 

 

Chicago Sun Times  
July 23, 2018  
Ian Gallagher, 21, of Chicago, was arrested yesterday on a variety of charges after an explosion outside the 32nd Street Methodist church last Wednesday.  
Mr. Gallagher is the leader of The Gay Jesus movement, operating on a message that God loves all people, regardless of gender identity or sexual orientation. While Mr. Gallagher's message is well received by some, he has met with resistance among the religious leaders of the Windy City.  
Prior to the incident, Mr. Gallagher was wanted by the Chicago police for questioning in the kidnapping of a minor child, Thomas Mason, 16 of Gracelake. Thomas's parents, June and Michael were in the process of turning Thomas over to the care of an organization that specializes in gay conversion therapy, Welcome Home, when he absconded from home with the help of Mr. Gallagher and his organization.  
On the afternoon of Wednesday, July 21, Mr. Gallagher and his followers were involved in an altercation with Welcome Home and the Masons outside Holy Name church. During a stand-off between the two opposing groups, Mr. Gallagher allegedly detonated a bomb, resulting in an explosion that destroyed a transportation van belonging to Welcome Home, and injuring two of their workers.  
When confronted by reporters during his arrest, Mr. Gallagher was quoted as saying "Conversion therapy is abuse. It's torture. Any parent who would subject their child to that does not deserve to have a child. I will never say where Thomas is, he is better off away from his parents. And if the religious right thinks that a simple arrest with stop our movement, they don't know me. Gay Jesus will persevere. I have God on my side."  
Mr. Gallagher is being held without bail as he awaits his court date. 

 

Mickey can't believe this shit. What the fuck has Ian gotten himself into? Kidnapping? Fucking arson? Mickey's mind is reeling, and he's suddenly hit with the desperate desire to get back to Chicago. 

It's a nonsensical idea, Mickey knows that. Ian doesn't want anything to do with him. He made that perfectly clear at the border. But Mickey can't change the way he feels. He's always wanted to protect Ian, especially from himself. 

Mickey reads and re-reads the article, his brain working overtime. How can he get back to the states without getting caught? Is it even possible for him to go to Chicago without being apprehended? And even if he did sneak back into the south side, how would he even contact Ian? He's being held at Cook County, and if Mickey even so much as showed his face within a ten mile radius of the jail, he would be cuffed up before he could even figure out Ian's cell block. 

Fuck. 

Mickey is drawn out of his spiraling thoughts when a gun shot rings out along the southern border of the property. Mickey and Julio jump up from the couch, exchanging a look as they both reach for their guns. 

The dogs are losing their shit, barking and howling all over the property. 

Someone's breached the perimeter. 

"You take the west side." Julio says, checking his gun to make sure it's loaded, and throwing an extra clip in his pocket. "I'll be on the east side. We scan the property, converging on the south from opposite ends. We meet back here after it's all clear." with that, Julio is gone and Mickey is left on his own. 

Mickey runs a hand through his hair, getting his head in the game. He grabs his AK, and his handgun from the coffee table before making his way toward the front hall. He straps the AK to his chest once again before checking the chamber on his handgun. Once he's sure it's loaded he tucks the pistol into the back of his jeans and grabs the AK, holding it tightly. Okay. He takes one more deep, calming breath before he opens the door and walks straight into fucking bedlam. 

There are men all over the yard, bullets flying in all directions. Mickey hits the dirt immediately, army crawling along the gravel driveway until he gets to a low wall by the front patio. He dives for cover behind the wall, clutching his AK to his chest as he tries to decipher what's happening based on what he can hear alone. 

Men are screaming. Ordering each other in spanish and english. Yelling "Get down!" or "On your left!" Someone yelps "I'm hit!" and the gunfire erupts all over again. Mickey can't tell if this is a raid or if this is another cartel robbing them. Either way, it's fucking bad. He lifts his gun as he peeks around the stone wall, squinting in the sunlight. He sees Edgar in the dirt, face down, blood all over his body. 

Edgar is dead.  
Shit. 

Mickey also sees two more dead men a few feet away. Those guys are white, and wearing tactical gear. 

Raid. Fucking Wonderful. 

Mickey doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to kill fucking feds or federales, or whoever the fuck they are. Hell, he doesn't want to kill anyone. He's never had that taste for violence that seemed to run in his family. That blood lust that drove Terry. Mickey may have been a violent thug in his younger years, but that was more about expressing his turbulent emotions. When he couldn't articulate the pain and rage he had boiling just under the surface, he got the point across with his fists. It was pretty fucking unhealthy, as far as coping mechanisms go, but it was all he had back then. So while he's always been a bit of a brawler, he's never been like his father, thriving on violence for violence's sake. 

But his misgivings about taking life mean shit right now. Because he knows if he doesn't do something, he's gonna be the one laid out face down in the grass. So he raises his AK and jumps out of his hiding spot. He starts running sideways, angling toward the garage, where all the cars are kept. He stumbles a little, spraying bullets all over the driveway as he struggles to regain his footing. 

No one notices him, all the men are too consumed in the firefight to pay Mickey any mind. Mickey ducks into the garage, slamming the door behind him, leaning against the door as he gasps for breath. This shit is fucked. Glass shatters over his head as bullets come flying through the windows. Mickey tosses the AK to the floor as he hit the deck again. He curls up in a tight ball, hands flying up to cover his face as bullet casings rain down on him. Broken shards of glass litter the floor and Mickey has no choice but to crawl through it. Just a few more feet and he can get to the jeep. Marco always leaves the keys in the visor. 

Just a few more feet. 

Mickey traverses the floor on his stomach, pausing to protect his head every time there is another burst of gunfire. He hisses in pain as his palms split open, blood flowing from the wound as he drags himself along the concrete. He can feel the broken glass cutting his hands, his forearms. It slices into his knees, thighs and chest as he scrambles toward the car on his belly. Hot, stinging pain radiates from his stomach and he can feel blood soaking into his clothes. He rolls onto his back, reaching down to inspect the damage. There is a large piece of glass buried in his abdomen. He winces, gripping the shard and pulling hard. He cries out as the glass slips free, dropping the bloodied fragment to the floor and covering the wound with his hand, applying pressure. He hasn't been shot, but he's cut really bad, and he knows if he doesn't stop this bleeding, he's going to have another problem to deal with. 

He finally makes it to the Cherokee, but before he can open the door he hears something. Whimpering. Muffled crying. Mickey tenses, flattening out on his stomach. He reaches into the back of his jeans, pulling out the handgun he had tucked there. He cocks it, raising up to his elbows as he surveys the garage, gun drawn. 

He casts his eyes around the room, his gaze finally landing on yet another bleeding body. 

The kid is young, and he's clutching his abdomen, blood seeping out from between his fingers. He locks eyes with Mickey, before glancing at his gun. The kid throws his free hand in the air. "Don't shoot." he cries. 

Just then, Mickey notices that this kid is part of the raid. He's got a badge hooked to his belt, and an empty gun laying at by his hip. He's american, and he's scared shitless. 

The kid can't be older than twenty. What the fuck is he doing here? Why isn't he wearing a fucking tactical vest?

Mickey feels an odd pang of sympathy for the kid. 

"Ain't gonna shoot you. What the fuck are you doing in here?" Mickey asks, crawling over to the kid just as another round of gunfire erupts in the yard. The kid flinches, tears welling up in his eyes. 

"Raid." he says, his breath hitching. "It's my first one. I fucked up." 

"No kidding." Mickey says, finally reaching the guy. "Lemme see." he motions toward the guy's wound. 

"Who are you?" the guys asks, eyeing Mickey warily. "You're not on the list of targets." 

"Don't worry about it. Just lemme see the fucking bullet hole." Mickey replies impatiently. The kid moves his hand, showing Mickey his wound. It's bigger than Mickey expected, and it's bleeding heavily. 

"Fuck, that's bad." Mickey says. He leans on one arm so he can shrug out of his hoodie. "Put fucking pressure on it. We're getting the fuck outta here." Mickey's not sure why he's helping this guy. He's obviously a cop of some kind, and Mickey's pretty sure he's signing his own arrest warrant doing this shit. But the guy is so young, and looks fucking petrified... Mickey can't just fucking leave him here to bleed to death. He hasn't killed anyone yet, and he's not starting today. 

The guy takes Mickey sweatshirt, hissing in pain as he presses the balled up cloth to his abdomen. 

There is another lull in the gunfire, and Mickey jumps at the opportunity. He lurches toward the car, swinging open the driver's side door. He tosses his hand gun on the passenger seat, flipping the visor down as he says a silent prayer. The keys tumble out, landing on the drivers seat. "Thank fuck." he whispers, grabbing the keys and starting the car. Once the engine is running, he flings open the back door and turns to the nameless cop. The guy is sprawled on on the floor, Mickey's bloodied sweatshirt still pressed to his stomach. The guy is pale, sweating bullets, breathing shallow and sporadic. "What's your name, kid?" Mickey asks, bending down and hooking his hands under the kid's arms. He uses all his strength to pull the guy up, awkwardly maneuvering him into the back seat. 

"Aaron." the kid replies, his voice strained and breathy. Mickey lays him out on the back seat, handing him his gun back. He folds the kids legs into the car, slamming the door and hopping in the driver's seat. He glances back at Aaron, splayed out on the back seat, bleeding everywhere. 

"Hold that shit." Mickey says, pointing to the gun in Aaron's hand. "If you hear gunfire, aim it out the back window, and light those fuckers up. I'm getting us the fuck outta here, Aaron." 

Aaron nods, closing his eyes. 

"And stay the fuck down." Mickey says, putting the car in drive and flooring it. The jeep lurches forward, and Mickey peels out of the garage, smashing through the wooden slat door and flying into the yard. 

There are still cops and criminals everywhere, the fighting nowhere near finished. Bloodied men leaning against the outbuildings, shooting indiscriminately. Wounded and dead men littered all over the vast front yard. There are tactical vehicles, cruisers and unmarked cars lining the driveway. Mickey sideswipes one in his rush to get the fuck out of there, cringing at the high screeching of metal on metal.

Mickey doesn't wait around to see who's winning, he takes a sharp left, almost taking out two federales. The men aim their guns at him, and bullets spray the jeep, shattering the driver's side window. 

"Fuck!" Mickey yelps, swerving just in time to avoid mowing the cops down. He drags the wheel to the right, then the left, and the car speeds through the chaos and down the driveway. 

Mickey can't fucking believe it, but they made it. He's soon speeding down the back roads, heading back toward town. 

"Hey, don't you die back there. We'll be at the hospital in ten fucking minutes." Mickey turns in the back seat to see Aaron laying there, covered in blood, eyes closed. 

But he's still breathing.

Mickey turns back around and floors it, determined to get to the hospital before this guy bleeds out. 

 

***

 

"Holy shit." Ronnie laughs. "That's quite a story, Mick." 

Mickey huffs out a small laugh. Yeah, it is quite a story. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else. Mexico feels like a dream, now that he's back in Chicago. Now that he's back in jail. 

"Yeah, but how did you end up surrendering?" Vlad asks, confusion coloring his tone. Ian glances over at Mickey's cousin, nodding. Vlad has a point, that story has a few holes in it. 

"Well, y'know how I told you about that kid, Aaron? The cop that got shot in the raid?" 

"Yeah." Vlad nods. "The rookie who forgot his vest." 

"Ameture." Davie laughs, shaking his head. 

"Yeah, well, come to find out the kid's ATF. His dad is some suit, high up shot caller with the Feds. That raid was Aaron's first time in the field. He fucked up royally. Got separated from the rest of his unit, got his ass shot up real bad. If I hadn't gotten him outta there, he woulda died." 

Ian sits at the table, his lunch totally forgotten as he listens to Mickey tell his family this insane story. This kind of shit only ever happens to Mickey. He's simultaneously the luckiest and unluckiest person Ian's ever met. 

"So, you saved some asshole baby fed's life, and the government just gave you a pass? Cut you a deal on that shit?" Ronnie asks, arching his eyebrows skeptically. 

"Nah." Mickey shook his head. He gathered up his trash from lunch, tossing it onto his tray. He's ready to get the fuck out of the cafeteria, and end this conversation. "I still had to give the feds information on the cartel. Didn't wanna, but once I got Aaron to the hospital, I was arrested immediately. It was a done deal after that, I was going back inside. So I figured I had to do what I could to make it as painless as possible for me." Mickey glanced at Ian as he spoke, taking in Ian's wide eyes, gaping mouth. He knew what Ian was thinking. 

Milkovichs don't snitch. 

"I didn't have a choice." Mickey said. "I was looking at fifteen more years, for the cartel shit, not to mention the escape. So I told them what I knew, which wasn't much, actually. I gave them the names of all the dead guys at the compound. Told 'em who I reported to directly. When the cars came to pick up or drop off money. Makes and models of those cars, descriptions. Some partial license plates." 

"So that's it?" Ronnie balked, shaking his head. "Sounds like you gave 'em jack shit. I'm surprised they cut you a deal at all." 

"Yeah, well, a lot of it actually came down to Aaron and his dad. Aaron pulled a lot of strings, had his dad pull some more. I guess saving the life of an important dude's only son carries some weight with the government."

Ronnie laughed, reaching over and smacking Mickey upside the head. Mickey frowned, batting Ronnie's hand away. 

"So how much time do you have to serve, all said and done?" Ronnie asked, standing from the table. 

The other men followed suit and soon they were all walking out of the cafeteria and down the hall. 

"I negotiated five years." Mickey shrugged. "Two and a half, with good time. So, it ends up being a way better deal than what I'd be doing if I never broke out." 

Ronnie laughed, shaking his head. "Only a Milkovich could pull off something like that. Jesus, Mickey." 

Mickey laughed along with his uncle and cousins, glancing over at Ian as they ambled down the hallway. 

Ian had this look on his face. Awestruck and amazed. He blushed and looked away when Mickey caught him staring. Mickey smirked, feeling his own face heat up. 

Mickey has to admit, he likes eliciting those feeling in Ian. It's been a long time since he did something that amazed Ian. 

 

***

 

Ian doesn't know what to think about any of the shit Mickey just said at lunch. He can't even being to wrap his head around any of it. Working for the cartel. The shoot out with the authorities. Turning snitch. It all feels so far outside the realm of reality, Ian feels like he's hallucinating. 

If he's being honest with himself, he's felt like he was trippin' since he first laid eyes on Mickey. 

It's a lot to take in. 

After lunch, Ian and Mickey have to go their separate ways. Apparently Mickey's been at MCC for a couple months now, and he's got himself a prison job. It's not much, landscaping and shit along the perimeter of the prison. Picking up litter, pulling weeds, mowing lawns and shit. Ian's not sure how much he makes, but it's probably more about having something to do during the day, keeping himself busy. 

Ian wonders how long he has to wait before he can get a job. He'll have to ask his counselor. 

That's where he's headed now. Prison counseling. He's not sure if that is something all the inmates have to do, or just the crazy ones like him. 

It doesn't matter. He's going to go to this meeting and talk to this lady. He's going to tell her whatever she wants to know, and he's going to listen. He's going to take the meds he's prescribed, and he's going to get his shit together. He's going to take this prison sentence and turn it into an opportunity. He's not going to waste these two years playing spades and watching daytime TV. He's gonna make the most of this time, and hit the streets stronger and smarter. 

He can't believe the deal Mickey negotiated with the feds. Five years, two and a half to serve. If he behaves himself during this bid, he'll be out of jail six months after Ian. The thought of starting a life with Mickey, together and truly free for the first time ever sends a thrill down Ian's spine. Looking back on his life, that's all he's ever really wanted. Just a quiet, simple life with Mickey. 

Now that it's actually possible, Ian doesn't know what to do with himself. It's so much, and so unexpected. 

Ian stops in front of the office door, taking a deep breath. He tries to calm his racing thoughts as he raises his hand an knocks. He's got so much on his mind, so many things to consider. But the fact that Mickey will be there at the end of the day to help him figure it all out eases his mind exponentially. 

When Ian walked through the prison doors mere hours ago, he was terrified. 

Now though, he knows with certainty, everything is going to be just fine. 

 

***

 

The meeting goes as well as can be expected. His prescriptions have been transferred to the prison's infirmary, and Ian is set up to see the counselor every three weeks while he's inside, just to check in. She also gives him a little black and white composition notebook, tells him to write in it when the mood strikes. She says it will help him track his swings, keep on top of his symptoms. 

Ian's not sure if he believes all that or not, but he's willing to do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn't slip again like he did before his arrest. 

Looking back, it was painfully obvious something was not right. He wasn't sleeping, mind always going a mile a minute. Jumping from one insane idea to the next. Of course, the Gay Jesus kids thought that was wonderful. Ian was their fearless leader, never afraid to speak his mind. Never afraid to scream louder than everyone else. Always willing to go the extra mile to get the message out. 

Now that Ian is stable again, he can see it for what it was. Mania. He was obsessed, singularly focused on his religious message, on the voices he was hearing. Forsaking everything else in his life for the cause. He lost a job he loved, alienated his family, lost touch with himself entirely. 

Just the fact that he thought God was speaking to him is proof enough that Ian was off his rocker entirely. 

He doesn't want to go back to that, ever again. He promises himself he won't let it happen again. He's got to do better this time. For his family. For Mickey. For himself. 

After he's done with the counselor, Ian makes his way over to the library. He checks out a handful of Stephen King books. He's gonna be bored as shit for the first three months inside. He can't work until he's been an inmate for ninety days. New inmate status restricts his movements a lot. 

But he's gonna suck it up and deal, because he doesn't have a choice. 

He makes it back to the cell, the room he's going to share with Mickey for the next two years. A small smile splits his lips as he lays his books on the small desk by the bunks. 

Only Mickey could make him smile when he's thinking about spending two years in jail. 

Ian still can't believe it. What Mickey did for him. Ian's not stupid, he knows Mickey didn't turn himself in JUST to be with Ian. But after hearing Mickey tell his uncle the story of his surrender, Ian sees it for what it was. 

An act of love.

Mickey could have done a lot of things when his compound got raided. He could have run. He could have let that fed die and gotten in that car and driven the fuck away from that shit. He could be in Honduras right now. But Mickey wasn't that guy anymore. He wasn't a runner. He saw an opportunity to come home, to come back to Ian, and he took it. He gave up his freedom so he could have Ian's back inside. 

No one will ever be able to convince Ian otherwise. 

Ian loves him. Ian loves Mickey so fucking much. Of course, Ian had to lose everything, including Mickey, for him to realize that. But none of that shit matters anymore, because Mickey's fucking back, and for some crazy reason, he still wants Ian. Still loves him. And Ian's never letting him go, ever again. 

Ian grabs one of his new books, Pet Semetary, and hops up on his bunk. He's got a few hours to kill before Mickey's back from his job, so he's gonna try to lose himself in the macabre world of Mr. King....

 

***

 

Mickey's freaking the fuck out. He had to go straight to dinner from his job pulling weeds by the main gate. He'd hauled ass all the way to the chow hall, only to find Ian's seat at the table empty. 

Ronnie hadn't seen him since lunch, and that made Mickey nervous as fuck. 

How much trouble could Gallagher get into on his first day in the can? 

Well, this is Ian we're talking about, so pretty much anything is possible. 

Mickey makes his way through the common area, dodging assholes left and right in his rush to get back to his cell. He shoves a scrawny meth-head on the stairs, muttering 'fucking move' as he shoulders his way around him and he finally makes it onto the tier. He comes upon the cell, finding the door closed. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he silently prays Ian's inside the 6X9.

He swings the door open, glancing around the tiny space. A relieved sigh escapes his lips when he finds Ian passed out on the top bunk, an open book splayed out across his chest. 

"Christ, Ian." Mickey mumbles, jumping up on the bed so he can get a good look at Ian. His features are soft, his face relaxed. Mickey loves Ian like this. Calm, quiet. Unbothered by the chaos that follows him around like a fog. Mickey smiles, running his hand through Ian's hair gently. Mickey's smile widens when Ian unconsciously leans into the touch.

Mickey's not sure how the next two years are gonna pan out, but he knows one thing. He's gonna spend the entirety of those twenty four months taking care of Ian. Loving him the way he always wanted to, but couldn't. Fuck, he's gonna love the hell outta Ian until his last breath, if Ian lets him. 

But for now, he's gonna let the fucker sleep. The first day inside is always the hardest, and Ian needs his rest. 

Mickey hops down from the bunk, sliding into his own bed. He folds his hands behind his head, crossing his legs at the ankle and closing his eyes. Maybe Ian has the right idea, a nap sounds pretty fucking good after working in the yard for hours. 

Mickey's eyes slip closed, and for the first time in a long time, the sound of Ian's quiet breathing lulls him to sleep. 

 

***

 

Mickey startles awake when the bell sounds for light out. The alarm rings all along the tier, and the sound of every lock on the block slamming into place echos along the halls. In ten minutes, the lights will go out and the tier will be thrust into darkness. 

"Shit." Mickey sighs, sitting up. He didn't mean to pass out for that long. He'd wanted to watch the game at seven. 

"Mick, you awake?" Ian's sleep-soft voice filters through the air, and Mickey's face splits into a wide smile. 

Waking up to Ian is one of his favorite things in the world. He missed this. 

"Yeah, man." Mickey says, sitting up. Just as he swings his legs over the edge of the mattress and leans his back against the concrete wall, Ian hops off his bunk and drops down next to Mickey on his. 

"Hey." Ian smiles, leaning in. 

"Hey." Mickey replies, meeting him in the middle. The kiss is tender. Soft lips and gentle tongue. Mickey sighs into Ian's open mouth, licking inside gently, tasting Ian. "How was your first day?" 

"Eh, it was okay, I guess. Didn't do much, really. Saw the counselor." 

"Oh yeah?" Mickey said, trailing his hand down Ian's neck, gripping the muscle of his shoulder. "Mary, or Evelyn?" 

"Mary." Ian replied, eyebrows raised. "Why, you know her?" 

"Yeah," Mickey nodded, pushing Ian to lay back on the mattress. "Mary works all the prisons. Juvie too. She's been my counselor for fucking ever." 

"So, everyone has a counselor in here, not just the basket cases?" Ian laughs,laying back on the mattress and pulling Mickey to his chest. Mickey stretched out on top of Ian, loving the feeling of their bodies pressed together. 

"You're not a basket case, Ian." Mickey sighs, rolling his eyes. "And yeah, all the inmates have a counselor. Help you out while your inside. Therapy, meds, shit like that. They do family reintroductions too. Like if a dude has never met his kid, they can set it up. They also do re-entry shit. Independent living. Getting your GED, budgeting, learn to read, all that shit. Set you up for when you get paroled or whatever." 

"Oh." Ian said, watching Mickey carefully. "You gonna talk to Mary about your plans for when you get out?" 

"Nah." Mickey shook his head. "Only one person I wanna plan my future with." 

Ian smiled, his whole body warming at Mickey's words. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Mickey nodded, his eyes shining. He dipped his head down, running his tongue along Ian's bottom lip. "Just one person." 

Ian smiled against Mickey's lips, running his hands along the muscled planes of his back, trailing down to grip his ass with both hands. 

Mickey groaned, grinding against Ian. It had been a long day for Mickey, waiting for this moment. Thirty more seconds.....

The kiss grew increasingly erratic, more desperate. Ian's fingers dug into the muscle of Mickey's ass, pulling him down onto his rapidly filling cock. Mickey grinned into the kiss, rolling his hips slowly. 

"Ah, fuck." Ian groaned, totally overwhelmed already. He's dreamed of this moment for years now. It's not exactly how he pictured it, but it's perfect all the same. "Can't believe this is happening." 

"Just wait." Mickey murmured, abandoning Ian's lips in favor of trailing hot kisses down his neck. Ian tipped his head back, urging Mickey on. "It's about to get a lot better." 

Just then the second bell sounded, and the lights snapped off along the tier. The boys were plunged into darkness, as alone as they could be in a place like this. 

Mickey sat up on Ian's lap, hopping off the bed and standing next to the bunks. "Get naked." he said brusquely. 

Ian complied, standing immediately. They stood face to face in the small space, chests heaving as they just stared at each other. 

"Are we safe to do this? A CO's not gonna come by with a flashlight, toss us in the hole?" Ian asked, his fingers hovering over the snaps of his uniform. 

Mickey shook his head, smiling at Ian in the limited light. "Nah, those fat fucks only get off their lazy asses for headcount once during the night. Around one in the morning. So we've got time, firecrotch. Take your fucking clothes off." and with that, Mickey ripped his coveralls open, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them. He shot Ian a flirty smirk as he hooked his thumbs in his prison issue boxers and dragged them down teasingly slow. 

Mickey was already half hard, just from Ian's close proximity, and the promise of what was to come. He slid his boxers down his body, turning away from Ian and crawling onto the bottom bunk, making sure to give Ian a show as he bent over. 

Ian groaned, his eyes greedily soaking up Mickey's naked body in all it's pale glory. The hallway light shone in through their small widow just enough to highlight all the dips and curves of Mickey's muscled back, and glorious ass. 

Jesus fuck. 

Ian strips down in record time, throwing himself onto the bed just as Mickey rolls onto his back, arms open, waiting for Ian. When their naked bodies touch, Mickey's eyes slip shut totally unbidden as his body reacts to Ian hovering over him, caging him in like he's always liked to do.

They've been in this position countless times, but this one feels different for some reason. The moment feels so surreal, so incredibly unbelievable. Mickey stares up at Ian, and Ian stares right back. Ian's eyes are glassy, and he's blinking fast. His face is split into a wide smile as he just watches Mickey watching him. 

"I love you." Ian whispers, a single tear slipping down his face. Mickey reaches up, pressing his thumb under Ian's eye, wiping away the wetness there, before gripping Ian by the back of his head and pulling him into a desperate kiss. 

"I love you too, Ian. Always have." Mickey murmurs against his lips. Ian huffs out a wet laugh, kissing Mickey harder. 

They lose themselves in the moment, in each other. It's all roaming hands and quiet sighs as they grind their swollen erections together. Mickey's skin is hot against Ian's, a light sheen of sweat covers his body, and Ian groans at the feeling of their slick chests sliding against each other. 

Mickey reaches up with both hands, burying his fingers in Ian's dark hair, keeping him close. Mickey licks into Ian's mouth hungrily, biting at his lips as Ian thrusts down against him. Their hard, leaking cocks slide along each other, their precum mixing together, creating an intoxicatingly slick friction. Ian thinks he might come from the sensation alone. 

"Jesus." Ian moans, pulling back just enough to stuff two fingers into his own mouth. Mickey watches with wide eyes as Ian dips his fingers in and out of his open mouth. He runs his tongue along the digits, wetting them liberally before dragging them from between his lips and reaching down into the tight space between their bodies. "How long has it been since you've taken it?" he doesn't want to ask, and it's really none of his business, but he doesn't want to hurt Mickey. It's not like they've got lube in jail. Spit is gonna have to do, and Ian's going to have to be careful. 

It reminds him of when they first started fucking. Spit and patience was all they had to work with back then too. 

Not that Mickey ever had patience. 

"What? Why?" Mickey asks, the inane question penetrating his lust-fogged brain. "You really gonna pull the jealousy card now, Gallagher? You serious right now?" 

Ian glares at Mickey, rolling his eyes. "Just need to know how much prep you need." 

"Don't act like that shit matters." Mickey replied tiredly, gripping Ian's wrist and dragging it down to where he wants it. "I can take it, Ian. You know that."

Ian smiles. He does know that. Oh god, does he know that. He nods, leaning down for another kiss. He pushes all thoughts of Mickey's past partners out of his mind as his tongue tangles with Mickey's. 

Mickey hisses, pinching his eyes shut as Ian breeches him with a single finger. He's tight, and Ian gets impossibly harder as Mickey clenches around his knuckle. 

"Oh fuck." Mickey sighs. He didn't want to tell Ian this, but it's been a long fucking time since he let anyone fuck him. It's happened, but very rarely. He just didn't want to put himself in that position. He knows it makes him sound like a bitch, but he couldn't let himself be vulnerable like that with just any asshole off the street. Especially when he was running with the cartel. If word got out that he liked to take dick, he would've been dead before he could even argue the point. 

So yeah, it's been a while since anyone's planted their flag in his ass, purely coincidentally. But now, as he wills his body to relax into Ian's long fingers stretching him, he can admit, if only to himself, that's he's sort of glad he held off. He had no way of knowing he'd find his way back to Ian, but it kinda feels like it was meant to be now...

Jesus, Ian turns him into the biggest, floweriest fag. 

But, when Ian's fingers brush against his prostate, he can't be bothered to care. 

He's fucking gay. Gay for Ian Gallagher. And he loves every second of it.

Ian's face is tucked into his neck, his lips and tongue working the sensitive flesh. Mickey writhes under him, thrusting down on his hand, craving more. 

"C'mon, Ian." Mickey mumbles, pressing his face into Ian's head, inhaling his scent. "M'good. C'mon." 

Mickey doesn't beg. But he's cutting it pretty fucking close right now. He needs Ian. He needs him like he needs fucking oxygen. His head is swimming with want. 

Ian's dick is throbbing, pressed against the coarse prison sheets. He grunts as Mickey twitches under him. Mickey wraps his legs around Ian's waist, pulling him closer, silently urging him on. Every few seconds, Mickey will huff out a harsh breath, and Ian can tell he's trying desperately to keep quiet. 

Ian wishes Mickey could be loud. Ian wants to hear his moans, his broken cries. He wants to hear him say all those deliciously filthy things he says when Ian works him really good. 

But they can't do all that now. They won't be able to do that for a long time. The thought saddens Ian, but he pushes it aside. He can't let their situation ruin this moment. Mickey is hard and ready, and Ian's going to give it to him good and fucking hard, just like he likes it. 

Ian slips his fingers free, leaning on one elbow so he can spit in his hand. 

Mickey watches his every move with rapt attention, eyes wide, mouth open. He's panting, can't help it. He wiggles his ass impatiently, and Ian chuckles as he uses his spit-soaked hand to wet his cock. 

Ian hooks his arm under Mickey's thigh, pulling it up and out as he uses his other hand to guide him home. He presses his aching cock against Mickey's stretched hole, keeping their eyes locked the entire time as he slowly buries himself inside his lover.

Mickey stares up at Ian, breathing slowly through the stretch. It burns, so fucking good. Ian fills him up unlike anything else. Mickey grins up at him, squeezing his thighs around Ian's hips as he finally bottoms out. 

"Oh jesus fuck." Ian sighs, collapsing on top of Mickey. He kisses him fiercely, pushing his tongue past his lips as he finally starts rolling his hips. Mickey feels so good. Hot and tight. Fucking perfect.

Mickey's never been a fan of missionary. It just doesn't get him hot. But this right now is all he wants. Ian on top of him, caging him in. Surrounding him, filling him up. Their breath mingles as they kiss and kiss.

Mickey bites back a moan as Ian jabs his prostate. He drags his nails up Ian's back, uncaring of the marks he's leaving (he'll regret that once he starts thinking with his head again, instead of his dick, but right now it never even enters his mind) 

Ian hisses, moving faster, thrusting harder. It just feels so good. Mickey's hands on his body, his tongue in his mouth. Mickey takes him so good. Better than anyone else every could. They move together effortlessly, without thought. Ian fucks him hard, Mickey meets him thrust for thrust. He hitches his leg up higher on Ian's hip, pulling him impossibly closer as they near the end. 

Ian's arm winds around Mickey's body, pulling their bodies flush together and trapping Mickey's leaking cock between their writhing bodies. Mickey sobs out a choked moan, burying his fist in his mouth to stifle his cries. 

Ian huffs out a small laugh, immensely please with himself for getting Mickey to that point. One of these days, he's gonna turn Mickey out so hard he comes untouched. Ian growls at the thought, his hips pumping faster. 

Mickey reaches up, fisting Ian's hair hard and dragging their mouths together. The kiss is rough, almost violent. Mickey bites Ian's bottom lip savagely, eliciting a pained whimper from his lover. Ian growls again, digging his fingernails into the meat of Mickey's ass as he fucks him harder and harder. 

Mickey presses his lips against Ian's ear. He's breathing harshly, grunting. Ian's losing himself in those sounds, drowning in them. 

That is, until Mickey starts to speak. 

Mickey's not one to talk during sex. Never has been. He lets his body communicate what he wants. But tonight, he's doing all kinds of out of character shit. 

Fuck it.

"Jesus Ian, you feel so fucking good inside me. Fuck me so good. Always." 

Ian moans into Mickey's neck, his hips stuttering at the simple words. "Mick." he whispers, licking at his neck. 

"Get me so hard." Mickey continues, clenching around Ian's cock. "Love getting fucked by you. Can't wait to ride you. You love that shit. Love it when I get on top and own that dick." 

Ian shivered, his whole body trembling. He was close. So close. "Yeah, Mick. I do. Fucking love it. Look so hot bouncing on my cock. Fuck." 

Mickey groaned as Ian grazed his prostate, his fingers tightening in Ian's hair. His whole body is on fire, nerve endings alight with pleasure. He's gonna come. Ian's fucking him so good, and his abs are sliding against Mickey's painfully hard cock every time he thrust into his pliant body. 

"Mick, I'm close." Ian whispers into his neck, punctuating the sentence with vicious bite to his collar bone. 

"Do it." Mickey moans, throwing his head back against the pillow. "Fucking come inside me. Want it. Ian, do it." 

Ian groans, louder than he should, stilling deep inside and coming hard. Harder than he has in years. 

Mickey grins as Ian loses himself in the immense pleasure. He thrusts once more, pressing right up against Mickey's prostate and Mickey comes, suddenly and unexpectedly. His vision whites out as he spills between their bodies. It feels like it goes on forever, wave after wave of pleasure shooting through his body as he quivers through his release. 

Once he's spent, Ian rests his head on Mickey's shoulder, tightening his arms around Mickey's sweat-soaked body. He inhales deeply, intoxicated by the scent of Mickey. Just Mickey. Ian's not sure what it is, but Mickey has always smelled so good to him. Masculine and clean, sexy as fuck. 

Mickey smells like home. Ian grins against his skin, taking another deep breath. 

"You smellin' me again?" Mickey laughs, running his fingers through Ian's dark hair. "That's still a thing?" 

Ian nodded against Mickey's shoulder, smiling himself. "It's always gonna be a thing. You smell incredible." 

Mickey chuckled, reluctantly pushing Ian away. "Alright, enough. We gotta get dressed. Can't lay around the cell with our dicks out. No matter how tempting that is." 

Ian sighed, sadness creeping in again. He nodded, and they both struggled to stand on wobbly legs. 

Mickey walked over to the small sink by the door, wetting a washcloth and cleaning himself up as best he could before tossing the cloth to Ian, who did the same before dropping the soiled towel in the laundry bag by the desk. 

They dressed silently, stealing glances at each other, smiling like idiots. 

Once they were both in boxers and wife beaters, they dropped back down on Mickey's bunk. Ian laid out on the pillows, Mickey's head on his chest. Ian wrapped an arm around Mickey's shoulder, pulling him as close as possible. 

"We can't sleep like this, you know." Mickey said quietly. He didn't like it, but if they got caught, they'd get split up. And the idea of Ian having some random prick as a celly made Mickey very nervous. 

"I know." Ian replied sadly, laying a tender kiss to the top of Mickey's head. 

"You ever think, back in the day, this is where we'd end up?" Mickey asks, running his tattooed fingers along the exposed cut of Ian's hip. 

"That's the second time you've asked me that." Ian chuckled, losing himself in the memory. 

Mickey nodded, his own mind recalling that moment years ago. "Did you know then?" he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. 

"Did I know what?" Ian asked, even though he had a sinking feeling he knew what Mickey was talking about. 

"Did you know that night that you weren't gonna go the distance with me? Did you know all along that you were going back to Chicago?" 

Ian's heart sank. His whole mood taking a nose dive, as his eyes started to sting. "No, I didn't. I promise, Mick. I was really gonna go. But the closer we got to the border, the more anxious I got. We had no plan, we had nowhere to go. I only had three weeks worth of meds with me. I didn't want to leave you, Mick. You gotta know that. I just couldn't risk it. If I had a psychotic break down there, who knows what coulda happened. We could have been arrested, or I coulda gotten us killed." 

Mickey sighed, nuzzling his face into Ian's chest. He's right. Mickey knows he's right. "I'm sorry, I never should've asked you to come with me. I knew what a risk it was. I was being selfish. I just wanted you with me so bad. Always have." Mickey's voice was low, unsure. He hates being so vulnerable, even with Ian. Makes him feel weak. 

Mickey hates feeling weak. 

"I'm glad I went with you, Mick. Those few days were the best days I'd had in years. It was never about not wanting to be with you. I've always wanted you, Mick. We just seem to have the worst fucking luck. Nothing is ever easy for us." 

"You're telling me." Mickey sighed, memories of all the fucked up shit he and Ian have dealt with in their relationship filtering through his mind like a flipbook. "I mean, think about it. I got shot twice because of us. Went to juvie." 

"Almost killed Frank." Ian laughed. 

"Almost got killed by Terry." Mickey added grimly. Ian shuddered at that memory. They don't talk about it, never have. They're probably going to have to, at some point. But not tonight. 

"Then all that shit with Svet and Yev." Ian said, the image of Mickey on his wedding day coming to mind. "We were cool for a minute there, kinda like a little family." 

"She's gone now." Mickey said, barely concealed sadness lacing his tone. He's got conflicting emotions about Svetlana and his son. But it doesn't matter now, since she's married to some rich geriatric. He'll probably never see that kid ever again. "It's better this way." he says, and he thinks he might even mean it. 

" I ran away, fucked my whole life up." Ian grimaced, shaking his head. The army was still a sore spot for Ian, all these years later. His life-long dream, destroyed. He ruined it all.

"Ian, you were sick." Mickey sighed. "That shit's not your fault." 

"Maybe not at first, Mick. But after I was diagnosed, I knew. I knew what I needed to do, and I refused to do it. I did so much bad shit, hurt you so bad. I'm so sorry." 

"Don't you dare apologize for that shit, Ian." Mickey said hotly. He lifted his head off Ian's chest so he could look into his eyes. The low light filtered in from the hallway, and Mickey could see Ian's tear-filled eyes plain as day. "It was fucked up, and yeah, it hurt my feelings. The cheating, the running. It sucked. But it's over now. You were sick, and you got better. End of story." 

"Yeah, but when I got better, I abandoned you. Again. I dumped you and ditched you when you needed me the most. I let you rot in prison and just went on with my life like you never existed. How could you ever forgive me for that? If I had visited more, you would never have broken out." 

"Yeah, and I'd still be doing fifteen years, Ian." Mickey replied, reaching up to cup the side of his face. "It was painful, and it was messy, but this way, I get out a few months after you, free and clear. Then we can do whatever we want. Right?" 

Ian leaned into Mickey's touch, smiling soft. "Yeah, we can." 

"We can do all that faggy shit you always wanted to back in the day. That couply shit I woulda shot down in a heartbeat when we were kids." 

"What, like our Sizzler's date?" Ian asked, his face heating up. "We've still never been on a real date." 

"Fuck yeah. We'll do that shit. And anything else you want. We'll get a place, and I'll let you get those queer microfiber sheets you've always had a boner for." 

Ian laughed, growing excited over the prospect of a real future with Mickey. "We'll have to get jobs. I don't think you've ever had a legit job." 

"I was thinking about taking some classes while I'm here. Plumbing or welding. Whatever." Mickey said quietly, embarrassed to make the admission. 

"You have?" Ian asked, surprised. 

"Yeah, man. I mean, I was just thinking about it. Y'know, in case you decided to give us another go. I wanna, you know, be better for you. Give you a real life. Something to be proud of." 

"Oh Mick." Ian said, tears welling up in his eyes again. "Fuck, that's amazing." 

Mickey rolled his eyes, feeling uncomfortable. "It's not that big a deal, Ian. I'm not even sure I'm gonna do it." 

"You should, Mick." Ian says, gripping Mickey under his chin and tilting his head up. "I always knew you could do whatever you wanted." he punctuated his words with a gentle kiss. Mickey melted into it, his heart warmed by Ian's words. 

Ian's always believed in Mickey, even when there was no reason to. 

"We'll see." Mickey replied, pulling away from the kiss and resting his head on Ian's chest again. He was gonna have to make Ian go back to his own bed in a minute. 

But not just yet. 

"Two years, Mick." Ian sighed, trailing his fingers up and down Mickey's back. "Two years, and we can start our life together. For real, just us. Can you imagine?" Ian's heart was full. Full of hope and love and the promise of a future with Mickey. 

He wanted it so bad. And he's gonna do whatever it takes to make it happen. 

He's not going to let him go. Never again.

Mickey tilted his head back, locking eyes with Ian in the darkened room. They just stared at each other for a moment, taking each other in with love-filled eyes and contented souls. 

Finally at peace after so much turmoil. 

"So, if you play your cards right, keep your nose clean, you'll be getting out six months before me." Mickey says, his eyes slipping closed as Ian drags his fingers through his hair. 

"Yeah, I'm gonna keep on the straight and narrow. Get outta here, get my shit straight, start over." 

Mickey looks up at Ian, his face open and vulnerable. He loves him so much, it scares the hell out of him, always has. 

But he's not scared to be scared anymore. Everything good he's ever had with Ian, he got after pushing through his fear and going for it. 

The thought of letting Ian in again is scary as fuck, but he knows it will be worth it. He loves Ian, and he trusts that Ian loves him back. 

But that little voice in the back of his head is loud, and he has to say something before it eats away at him. 

"Six months, you'll be on the streets six months before me." Mickey locks eyes with Ian, staring into the green expanse as he utters his next words. "You gonna wait this time? Will you wait for me, Ian?" 

Ian smiles sadly, remembering the last time Mickey asked him that. The first time, Ian had been so lost, felt so alone. Broken and unfixable. He didn't think he could ever love himself again, never mind another person. 

But he's different now. He's grown the fuck up, and he knows what he wants. 

And he wants Mickey. Always has, always fucking will. 

Mickey's under his skin, and there's nothing he can do about it. 

Not that he would ever want to change it. He's right where he wants to be. In Mickey's arms. 

"Yeah, Mick." Ian nods, gripping the back of Mickey's head tightly in his palm. "Yeah, I'm gonna fucking wait. I'm in this. Me and you. Forever." 

Mickey smiles, his whole face radiating with unmasked joy. "Okay, Gallagher. Forever it is." 

Ian grins down at him, finally closing the distance between them. Their lips meet. It's the softest, most gentle kiss they've ever shared. Slowly licking into each other's mouths, tongues sliding sweetly along each other. 

Mickey smiles into the kiss, his whole body alight with a peace that only comes when he's in Ian's arms.

Mickey's done a lot of time in his life. Hard fucking time. It always sucks, and Mickey always walks out of the prison a little meaner, a little more dead inside. 

But this bid is going to be different. He's gonna stay out of trouble. He's gonna take those fucking classes. He's gonna spend his time with Ian, getting to know him again. Protecting him. Fucking Loving Him. He's gonna do all that shit. For all seven hundred and twenty days of his bid. 

Mickey's done hard time before. But with Ian by his side, hard time doesn't seem so hard anymore....

**Author's Note:**

> baja tu arma: lower your gun
> 
> pendejo: dumbass
> 
> maricon, joto: faggot 
> 
> cabron: dick


End file.
